"It has become apparent to me over the years that some who come to the College of Winterhold to learn are not content to stay within the safety and confines of the college grounds," Tolfdir said as the hastily scrawled note left in Malg's chamber.
"What can we do?" Wiggles-Her-Fingers asked.
"About what?" Tolfdir questioned her back.
"What do you mean?" she retorted. "About Malg! He has gone out alone against a serious danger! There has to be something we can do!"
"The same thing we did the first time he left and went poking around down in Saarthal or when you dragged him off to Dawnstar and across the entire north of the country, I suppose," Tolfdir said.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers went quiet.
"Incidents like this became common enough at the College of Winterhold that our former archmage decided that the college's policy would be to wish them well," Tolfdir continued. "By in large, the mages comport themselves well, as you two did, so it reflects well on the college, and we can use any good will we can get. In addition, the real-world experience you received during your adventures is something we cannot give you here, wouldn't you say?"
"That is true," Wiggles-Her-Fingers conceded. "I am just confused. After we spoke about it, he did not seem to have any interest in answering the summons. I wish I knew he had changed his mind."
"Would you have gone with him?" Tolfdir asked.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers could not meet his gaze. She merely looked at the letter, trying to find words that would not come.
"What happened out there?" Tolfdir asked.
Wiggles-Her-Fingers looked away and then down at her feet. Tolfdir's question burrowed into her. She wanted to answer him, but she did not want to expose herself in that way. It was hard enough to tell Colette. She did not want anyone else to know.
"Perhaps that is why," Tolfdir said. "He did not want to force you to refuse." Tolfdir gave the letter back to her and said, "Try not to worry too much. I know it is easier said than done, but worry won't help him. Prayer perhaps." With that, the professor left her to her thoughts.
As Malg traveled the now familiar route between Winterhold and Dawnstar, he worried about whether or not Wiggles-Her-Fingers would be angry with him. He would never have thought about leaving without her, but the way she had rejected the steward's request tugged at his heartstrings. There was a tremor in her voice, a fear floating just below the surface of what she was willing to admit. She wanted nothing more to do with undeath, and he was not about to put her in the position where she would have to confront it again. Besides, who would want to be dealing with rotting corpses clattering around trying to murder you. Ugly, decayed faces, rancid flesh hanging off dusty bones, and if you were ever unfortunate enough to be around when one of those rattling bone bags moaned, that was a smell that could relieve you of your senses. Seriously, what was wrong with necromancers? For a moment, Malg wondered exactly why he was going back. Even with his mind clouded by a berserker's rage, he still remembered that fetid reek.
Malg stopped. The memory of that smell nearly turned him around, but he quickly reminded himself that if he did not use magic for good, it was not enough in and of itself. That was a realization he had only recently come to understand. It had not come from some big event. It just logically made sense, and it made him wonder if the College of Winterhold had the right idea closing themselves off from the rest of Skyrim. Falion had left the college to do something good, and even if the mage was working with conjuration magic, which Malg found repulsive, and did not particularly like him, Malg still respected what he was doing. Malg shook his head. If he kept going like this, he was going to give himself a headache. He decided it was better just to enjoy the world around him as he went.
Malg stayed the first night away from Winterhold at the Windpeak Inn in Dawnstar. Thoring welcomed him the moment he stepped in the door with a sudden shout just before grabbing Malg in a massive bearhug. Stunned by the unexpected showing of emotion, Malg did not react as he was lifted off his feet.
"Glad to have you back! How are you?!" Thoring asked after finally dropping Malg.
"Well, thank you," Malg replied.
"And where is your Argonian friend?" Thoring asked.
"Not here," Malg replied.
A worried look came over Thoring's face.
"No," Malg said, quickly trying to correct the misunderstanding. "She is alive, just not with me. She is at the College of Winterhold."
"Oh, good," he said. "It would have been a real shame if she fell trying to avenge her brother."
"Malg!" Karita greeted him with a hug almost as powerful as her father's. "I'm glad to see you. How have you been?"
"Well, thank you," Malg repeated.
"Wonderful," she replied. "Can I play you a song? It is the least I can do for the orc who saved our inn and perhaps even our city."
Malg's mind raced for the name of any song. He enjoyed the bardic arts, but he had never really paid enough attention to the songs being played to know what they were called. Eventually, he just shrugged.
"Don't worry," Karita said. "I'll pick a good one for you."
Thoring made sure Malg got the best room in the inn and the best cut of beef for dinner, and as he enjoyed the extra-large portion, Karita played several songs without charge. Malg found that he very much enjoyed the amount of notoriety that came from having bled the Blood Horkers. After his meal, several patrons came up to shake his hand and thank him for his service to Dawnstar.
"I could get used to this," Malg whispered to himself. As much as he wanted to continue to bask in his celebrity, the tavern eventually began to empty until he and Thoring were the only ones left. With sleep rapidly overtaking him, Malg stood, stumbled into his room, and quickly fell asleep.
Malg woke the next morning later than he had intended. Irritated that he had a late start on what he knew would already be a long day, Malg made a hasty exit, paying for his food and room and thanking his host. Thoring told him to come back any time and that there would always be a place for him at the Windpeak. Malg nodded his appreciation and hurried out into the midmorning cold. As he opened the door, a chilling wind rushed in around him, opening his lungs and banishing any last vestiges of dreariness from his mind. It focused him, opened his eyes, and reminded him of his course. In the last lingering hours of the previous night, Malg had changed his mind. He had planned to take the roads to Solitude as he had done before, but the more direct route to Solitude was over the desolate, windswept northern coast. It was a difficult way for most people, but he was an orc, born high up in the frozen, bitter cold of the Dragontail Mountains. If he could survive a childhood there, a stroll along this little-known stretch of the coast should pose little concern. At least this time, he would not have to take a dip in the Sea of Ghosts beforehand.
For the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, Malg trudged along the coastline. He stayed close to the water to keep from being slowed down in the deep snow and even though he was able to travel relatively quickly across the country, something still felt off. It was not difficult to figure out why. He missed Wiggles-Her-Fingers. They had been through some tough times together, and to be alone again was scary. Having someone he could trust to watch his back was a security that he had gotten used to, not to mention having someone to talk with and pass the time. He briefly entertained the notion that he had made a mistake, but then remembered how her transformation had changed her and shook off the idea. She did not deserve to have that trust on her again. He chose to finish this, not her. He would do it on his own.
It was at that moment, encouraged by coming to the same conclusion once again, that Malg heard a low, guttural grunt followed immediately by a short, raspy howl. He looked instantly in the direction of the noise to see bestial shape kicking up large chunks of snow as it plowed toward him. Malg had no time to react before the creature bowled him over, tossing him several meters across the rocky shore. Dazed but with adrenaline already pumping through his body, Malg rolled to his feet, growling at the hulking frost troll. It turned, its three black eyes refocusing on the orc and charged again, swinging its huge shaggy arms in deadly arcs. Malg blocked the troll's attack and grabbed onto the shaggy hide, roaring into the beast's face. A glimmer of doubt twisted the troll's expression, and Malg took the opportunity to jab the end of his staff into the creature's face. The troll winced in pain, closing two of its eyes, but lashed out again, catching Malg in the shoulder. The impact knocked him off his feet and a searing pain shot through the entire limb. Malg pushed himself up to his feet, but the pain nearly caused him to pass out. He could hear clicking in his right arm and instantly knew something was broken. The pain set off a war within himself. One part howled in rage, desiring to succumb to the berserker rage, but each time the same pain brought him back to his senses, sharply reminding him that trying to match the savagery of the troll with his own would not go well with an injury.
Both sides pushed for what seemed far longer than the few seconds the troll aimlessly thrashed, but finally, the logical side of Malg's mind prevailed over his more fiery impulses. As the troll charged again, Malg leveled his staff at the beast and let loose a gout of flame into the creature's face. Instinctively, the beast cried out in pain, and Malg flooded its gaping maw with fire, which streamed down into the troll's gut and cooked the creature from the inside. The troll was dead before its scorched corpse collapsed into the snow.
Malg stood over the stinking, smoldering body for several moments to make sure the beast was truly dead. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and the pain shot through his injured limb again. Malg growled and clutched his arm, which was a mistake because the pain shot to his brain like lightning, and he nearly passed out. Once he managed to uncross his eyes, Malg applied what little he knew of the restoration school to repair his arm. It was not much. He could hardly move his arm, but at least he was able to dull the pain.
It took Malg the rest of the day to reach the northern edge of the marshes. With little desire to brave the marshes at night, he took refuge in the entrance of an old Nord ruin near the coast. After gathering some debris and anything else he could find that would burn, Malg set the pile ablaze with his staff. The burning rubble warmed the entire area. Satisfied, Malg leaned back against the stone wall and fell asleep, basking in the warmth of the flames.
"Hey! Orc!" a deep, gruff voice shouted in his ear just before Malg was kicked hard in the side. "What are you doing here, green skin?!"
The kick barely hurt, but it jostled his injured limb and sent a jolt of pain through the right side of his body. Malg's eyes opened with the pain, and he found himself staring at two ugly Nords with branching black paint designs on their faces and necks.
"What do you want?" Malg grumbled.
"Everything you got," the first man said. "Gold, gems, and that fine-lookin' staff there."
"Maybe you could just go away?" Malg asked. "I had a rather bad day yesterday, and I would prefer to be left alone."
The two men laughed. "I don't think the orc quite understands his situation, do he, Brax?" the second man said.
"Not at all, Gogvir," Brax replied. "Look, orc, we are going to take everything we want from you, whether you had a bad day or not, and if you try to stop us, we're going to flay your lousy green hide. Do you understand?"
Malg nodded.
Brax motioned to Gogvir to take the staff. "Careful, Gogvir," Brax joked. "He's a mage."
Gogvir laughed, "Right, an orc mage!"
Malg's left hand shot out of the sleeve of his robe, and Gogvir stiffened. Brax watched as his companion fell to the stones, unable to move, then his wide eyes turned to Malg, who was now on his feet.
"I warn you," Brax said, but he was unable to finish the warning once Malg slapped his blade away and clamped his hand around the man's throat.
"I do not always understand when people are jesting or leading me on," Malg said. "So perhaps it is better to ask you directly. Were you making fun of me just now?"
Brax shook his head.
"Because it seems like you might have been, and I wouldn't want to make a mistake," Malg continued.
Brax's shaking became more enthusiastic.
"Good," Malg said. "I think it would be nice if we could part ways amicably. I think it would be easier on both of us."
Brax switched from shaking to nodding so quickly Malg though the man might have pulled a muscle. It did not matter, however, as Malg heard the sound of a sword sliding from a sheath. Brax's eyes darted to the side, and Malg turned to see Gogvir, his sword back, about to attack.
Out of reaction, Malg stepped away and dragged Brax to the side, putting him between himself and the danger. The man's eye widened, and he coughed up all over Malg's arm as his comrade's sword cleaved through his body and stuck in his spine. Malg's eyes were equally wide as he dropped Brax's body, which fortunately for him, wrenched the blade from Gogvir's hand. Gogvir rushed Malg, unmoved by his companion's demise, but once again fell to Malg's paralysis spell.
"No honor among thieves," Malg muttered, looking down at his paralyzed enemy. It left him with a problem. He did not want to kill Gogvir, but it would not be long before the brigand was able to move again. He could not have the man following him or gathering his other acquaintances to ambush him in the marshes.
Malg though for a moment, and then quickly grabbed the belt off Gogvir's pants. He also took the blood-covered belt off of Brax's corpse and the laces from their shirts. Before Gogvir was about to move again, he had the man securely tied up. He knew Gogvir was no longer under the spell when the man suddenly let out a scream for help. Malg immediately hit him in the face with his staff, silencing him and knocking out several of his teeth. Blood streamed out from between his lips and down over his bristled chin.
"It would be better if you did not call out again," Malg said.
"For you," Gogvir said. "The rest of the Blackblood Marauders are down at the shoreline looting a shipwreck. If they heard me, you are the one in trouble."
"Do they have a boat?" Malg asked.
"Of course we have boats!" Gogvir sneered. "How else would we move the cargo?"
"Just curious how they were going to move the loot is all," Malg lied. "I'm going to leave now. If you promise now to call out to them again, I won't kill you. Do we have a deal?"
Hope shone in Gogvir's eyes and a ridiculous grin spread across his face. "Yes," he promised. "Of course. I'll just sit here quietly while you run off. Go on."
Malg grabbed his staff and made a hasty retreat. As he expected, Gogvir was yelling his head off not long after he left the ruins, and Malg hid himself behind a small rock ridge. Soon saw a number of men running up from the shoreline to the ruins. Once they had passed him, Malg ran as fast as he could in the direction they had come from.
Just as Gogvir said, two boats were tied to a tree, partially loaded with cargo from the wrecked ship, and the Blackblood Marauders had only left one guard. Malg did not even slow in his approach. He paralyzed the guard, dumped the cargo from one of the boats into the water, and jumped in. At first, it was difficult to paddle with just one arm, but somehow Malg managed to make it work. He paddled out a little way into the Sea of Ghosts and was gone before the rest of the brigands returned.
Malg was impressed with himself. He had to admit that he was usually not that clever and wondered how he had come up with such a plan. Maybe it was Wilkes' influence. Whatever it was, he paddled proudly into the Karth River, laughing as he imagined the moment Gogvir and the rest of the Blackblood Marauders realized how he had duped them. It was extraordinarily satisfying, far more so than just fighting them, not that the fight would have gone when for him in his state. Despite what he was able to do early, the paddling had brought back every bit of pain from before, and he only just managed to float up to the Solitude docks before losing the use of his arm entirely.
"Do you have a plan to deal with her?" Bryling asked as she, Falk, and Erikur sat discussing the situation in the throne room of the Blue Palace.
"I have a few ideas," Falk replied. "I just have to wait to see what works out. Captain Aldis already sent his men down into the crypts. He is ready and waiting to do so again, but if the Wolf Queen really is back, sending a contingent of legionnaires down to her would likely add to our problem, not solve it."
"What about General Tulius?" Erikur asked. "He has enough legionnaires to flood those catacombs twice over."
Falk shook his head. "The general is consumed with finished in the war, and he is not going to spare any troops for this," Falk said. "They are right on Ulfric's doorstep, and he is not willing to be distracted by anything else right now. He said Aldis has enough men to handle whatever the problem is."
"Which will only add to her ranks," Bryling said.
Falk nodded.
"Arrogant Imperial," Erikur muttered.
"We could ask the Companions," Bryling suggested. "Kodlak's warriors have done some mighty deeds in Skyrim."
"I have," Falk said. "I have yet to hear anything in response. I also sent one to the College of Winterhold."
"Why would you bother doing that?" Erikur asked. "The mages are nothing but trouble."
"Archmage Mirabelle is an honorable woman," Bryling retorted. "I'm sure she would be more than capable of helping us in this matter."
As the thanes argued, Falk's gaze rose up over her shoulder to the large, familiar figure grunting his way to the top of the stairs. The orc's right arm hung limply at his side, and he leaned more heavily on his staff than what would inspire confidence. Hope drained from Falk's face, and both Bryling and Erikur turned to see Malg climb the last stair.
Erikur spun back around, "You asked them?" Judgment saturated the question; which Falk did not appreciate.
"They were able to deal with her the first time," he retorted.
"No," Bryling said. "They were able to handle the necromancers trying to summon her."
"I'm sending them," Falk said. "Besides, no one else has responded."
"Fine," Erikur said, throwing up his arms. "Just be sure to tell whoever is the next to attempt this that they will have a couple of undead mages to put down as well."
"We'll see," Falk growled.
"Twenty gold says they don't return, and you'll have to send someone else," Erikur sniffed.
"Done," Falk replied curtly as he went over to greet Malg.
Malg saw the steward coming, he and apologized for not being able to shake the man's hand.
"What happened to you?" Falk asked.
"Frost troll," Malg answered.
Falk motioned to one of the couriers standing against the wall, and the man ran up to them. "Go over to Angeline Morrard and get me half a dozen strong healing potions," Falk ordered. The man disappeared quickly down the steps, and Falk turned back to Malg. "We'll get you fixed up once he returns," Falk said. "I assume you are here about my letter?"
Malg nodded.
"Good, are your companions outside?" he asked. "I would prefer to address you all on what is happening."
"No," Malg said. "I am here alone."
Falk sighed. He could feel the thanes watching from over in the corner. He was no longer worried about the twenty gold Erikur would be itching to collect. Far more than that was at stake if this went badly. "One moment," he said.
Malg watched as the steward walked up to the side of the throne and whispered in Jarl Elisif's ear. After a short conversation, the jarl nodded. Falk then sent another courier scurrying out of the palace before returning to Malg.
Falk sighed, "This is no simple assignment I am going you, Malg. Even a mage such as yourself may be overwhelmed by the power of the Wolf Queen. I know I only wrote to you, but that was because I assumed you'd still be traveling with the other two, that shady Breton and the Argonian who for some reason never wanted to enter the city. Why is that?"
Malg brain raced for some logical reason other than that she was a vampire.
"No matter," Falk continued. "I was just hoping your party was still together. However, since you are not, and I am not willing to send you on this quest alone, I have asked Jarl Elisif and she has kindly given me permission to temporarily assign to you a housecarl."
"Housecarl?" Malg asked, unfamiliar with the term.
"She would be your bodyguard," Falk said. "They are usually appointed to thanes or jarls, but as she is currently unassigned, I think you could use her help." Falk helped Malg over to a bench and sat down with him. "Listen, Malg, when you broke up the binding ritual in Wolfskull Cave, Potema escaped."
Malg's eyebrow rose. He remembered the power those necromancers were trying to bind, and it was not insignificant. He had assumed some of the necromancers had escaped during his frenzied assault and were trying to repeat the failed experiment. Now he understood why the steward bent the rules to get him a little help, and he wished he had asked one of the other mages from the college to come with him, specifically one with strong restoration magic and green scales, even if she loathed the idea. This was not going to be some simple purge of necromancers. Unfortunately, the look of urgency in Falk's expression said there would be no time to send for her.
"We've already encountered some of her minions," Falk continued. However, there is some good news: She is still in some kind of spirit form. Styrr said that if she had taken a corporeal body, we'd be dead already."
"That is good news," Malg stuttered.
"You have already done us a service by stopping the binding," Falk said. "And we are deeply grateful for that. Potema under the control of those necromancers would have been a blight on all of Skyrim, but I fear the Wolf Queen herself is even worse."
As Malg began to realize how seriously stupid he looked for showing up to take this job alone and injured, the courier arrived with the six healing potions Falk Firebeard had ordered. Falk took them and gave the first to Malg.
"Drink it," Falk said. "Angeline makes a quality product. It should heal that arm quick, and take the others with you, just in case."
Malg did as he was told, downing the entire potion in one long draft. The tingling started immediately, and before Falk was finished telling him about all the other potential horrors of the catacombs, his arm was perfectly functional again.
"Go talk to Styrr," Falk said. "He seems certain about what needs to be done to stop Potema, but I honestly did not understand everything he was saying. I'm not really much for magic."
Malg managed a reasonably confident, "Understood," before taking his leave of the steward and the court.
As he left the Blue Palace, the accomplished orc mage was still berating himself for the impression his less-than-prepared appearance must have made with the Steward of Solitude. The embarrassment was suffocating, like a tight knot, twisted up in his chest. Part of him wanted to disappear. The other part wanted to explain himself. Why hadn't he at least taken care of his arm before appearing at the court? Before finding out what was happening, it did not seem to matter much, but now it was just another part of how ill-prepared he appeared to be. Malg growled. His magic was strong enough! He knew it was, but he saw the looks of the thanes! The blonde Nord did not even bother to hide his laughter or his scorn, and it was hard to miss the pity in the eyes of the woman, though she tried to hide it under a mask of propriety! Anger flushed his face again. Arrogant nobles! He would show them! He would show the whole court why Falk Firebeard reached out to him!
Malg doing a good job getting his ire up, when a woman, clad in steel plate armor walked up to him. He was so deeply stewing in his irritation that he did not notice until she spoke, "You must be my charge."
Worked up and shocked by her appearance, Malg instinctively lashed out, but he only bruised his fist on the steel rim of Jordis' shield.
"I'm not particularly happy about it either," she sneered. "I don't trust magic, and if I'm to be completely forthright, I don't much trust those who wield it, either. The fact that it's a spell-flinging orc just makes it that much stranger."
"You hate orcs?" Malg asked, taken off guard by her directness.
"No," she replied. "I have no issue with orcs. I like most that I've met who haven't tried to kill me. It's just wholly unsettling to see one who took to magic rather than steel. Are you alright in the head, orc?"
"Malg is my name," he said.
"Very well, Malg," she said. "Are you alright in the head?"
Malg nodded. He did not like this woman.
"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it," Jordis said. "I am Jordis, the Sword-Maiden. By my oath, given before the Jarl of Solitude, I am sworn to your service. Until the completion of this quest, I am your sword and your shield."
Malg had no idea what to say. Jordis' lines seemed well rehearsed and seemed to call for some kind of response. "Thank you," he said.
"So, where are we going?" she asked.
"I need to talk to Styrr in the Hall of the Dead," Malg replied. "Do you know where that is?"
Jordis motioned for him to follow her, and the two new comrades-in-arms walked down from the Blue Palace into the city. Neither of them said a word, which was alright with Malg. He observed his new companion. She was slightly shorter than the average Nord, but Jordis had an impressive build. Her arms were thick and well-muscled, and though they were hidden under thick steel plates, Malg could tell her legs and her core were equally as strong. She walked confidently and knew how to carry herself. Had her pale skin shown even a hint of green, he would have been forgiven for thinking she was an orc. Malg suddenly realized that he was staring for more than one reason and quickly forced his eyes onto the surrounding architecture, searching for the Hall of the Dead.
Just passed a modest-sized graveyard, strangled by unkempt nightshade bushes and surrounded by a short stone wall, was a dark, dreary house that split the main city road in two. A single lantern hung over the front entrance. Jordis, however, did not approach that door. Instead, she turned and knocked on an unlit door in the side of the building.
"Enter," a voice called from within.
Jordis stepped out of the way and motioned to the door. "After you," she said.
"Doesn't a bodyguard usually go first?" Malg asked. Even though Malg was not afraid of the place, it was rather creepy, and he thought to throw a quick jab at the rude housecarl. He was amazed at how quickly the insult backfired.
"If Styrr poses a threat to you, I don't really see myself coming out successfully in this venture," Jordis retorted.
Malg felt his face flush and quickly entered the hall.
An old man dressed in plain, brown priestly robes stood over a large iron pot sitting on the edge of a tall firepit. "I trust you're not planning any trouble. What can I do for you, friend?" he asked.
"I am Malg, of the College of Winterhold," Malg began. "Falk Firebeard sent me in regard to the situation with the Wolf Queen."
"Ah," Styrr replied, laying a large spoon down next to the pot. "Excellent! I am glad you are here. Potema must be stopped and as quickly as possible before she sets loose a horde of undead into the city. Did you know she was responsible for the Empire's near collapse almost five hundred years ago? I'm afraid that if she manages to reconstitute herself in corporeal form, with the legion weakened by the civil war, she might finally be successful in forcing the Empire from Skyrim and remaking it into something terrible."
"How do we stop her now that she has been summoned?" Malg asked.
"Well, we know where she is," Styrr said. "She has retreated to her old catacombs. The problem with that is that those chambers are filled with dead eager to serve her."
"How are corpses eager to do anything?" Jordis asked.
"That is a little hard to explain," Styrr replied.
"Try," Jordis said.
"Well, alright," Styrr stuttered. "In life, those warriors were loyal to her. Even though the soul is no longer with the body, some might say an aspect of the will remains, and that will would desire to serve as it previously did."
Jordis did not look convinced, but she did not pursue the topic. "So, we will be up against a throng of armed draugr backed by a powerful necromancer," Jordis summed up.
"Almost certainly," Styrr nodded. "A few days ago, one of those blasted draugr busted through a wall into the lower floor of the Temple of Divines. Had the priests not locked the lower floor, the entire city would already be at risk."
"I think that is straight forward enough," Malg said. "What do we do once we've found Potema?"
"Bring whatever is left of her body back here to be exorcised," Styrr said. "This is a terribly dangerous task. Falk must have a lot of faith in your abilities to entrust it to you. Here is the key. Might I ask a favor of you?"
"Of course," Malg replied.
"After you enter, would you lock the door behind you?" Styrr asked.
Malg's eyebrow rose.
Styrr stuttered a bit, fumbling his words. "It is not that I believe you will not be successful," he assured them. "It is just that..."
"If we fail, you want to keep the threat contained," Jordis finished his sentence. It makes sense." She looked at Malg.
Malg nodded, "Of course we will."
Styrr nodded and hung his head. "I should have been more vigilant," he mumbled.
"Huh?" Malg grunted.
"I should have realized something was happening before," Styrr admitted. Earlier, a legion scout snuck down into the crypt below us. I'm not sure what he was after, but some of the skeletons were up and walking around. They were easily dispatched by Captain Aldis' men, but it was a sign of what was to come. Had I been paying attention, I might have deduced the connection to our city's past and been able to warn someone before it got as bad as it is. Hopefully, together, we can at least keep anything worse from happening."
Malg nodded and looked away. "We will try," he said gruffly before sidestepping Jordis and walking out the door.
The confession of the priest made Malg oddly uncomfortable. The priest was being stupid, feeling guilty for something no one could have anticipated, but then he just relieved himself, as if he had been waiting for someone to vomit up all his ridiculous regret for what? Not knowing the future? Part of Malg wanted to help, alleviate the unnecessary guilt while the rest of him wanted to crack open the man's skull and dig around until the stupid was fixed! Most, if not all of the crypts and catacombs in Skyrim, were plagued by the restless dead! Where else is some novice necromancer looking to raise his first corpse going to go?! Phinis had even suggested as much during his conjuration lessons at the college! How would the keeper of the Hall of the Dead not know this! Didn't they keep some kind of correspondence with the keepers in other cities or have some kind of convention?! Argh!
"What's with you?" Jordis asked.
"Nothing," Malg grunted. "Just stupid to feel guilty because he couldn't predict the future."
"Yep," she agreed. "Not like he could have done anything about it anyway."
Jordis' affirmation made Malg feel more vindicated in his frustration as the two of them marched up the cobblestone street and into the temple. Malg did not say a word as he passed by a startled priest and headed down to the lower level. As he fumbled with the key, he heard the priest's warnings followed immediately by Jordis assuring him that they were acting under the authority of the Steward of Solitude. The priest's tone immediately changed to gratitude, but Malg did not hear exactly what he said as the key turned in the lock and the old iron gate creaked loudly on its hinges. A moment later, Jordis was behind him. He locked the gate behind him, and the two descended down through the broken wall into the Wolf Queen's catacombs.
A dead tree stripped bare of leaves and set in a large pot was the first thing Malg saw as he entered the catacombs. It seemed fitting as he would soon be facing more vertical dead things which were sure to be much less accommodating. Jordis quietly put her hand on his shoulder and moved forward ahead of him. Even if she was unhappy about the assignment, she seemed to be taking it seriously. Malg fell in behind and to her right for a clear line of sight.
At the end of a short hallway, Malg noticed a mural carved into a large stone panel. It was the image of a woman, clad in bone and fur, with the severed head of a wolf serving as her headdress. He did not like the image, nor did he much appreciate the artist's skill in rendering it, but somehow Malg was drawn to it, like a fly to the glistening threads of a spider's web.
"You've arrived at last," a voice said. "I was hoping to see you again."
Malg spun around, looking for the speaker.
"The one who gave those fool necromancers what they deserved for trying to bind me."
"Where are you?" Malg asked.
"Right here," Jordis answered. "We need to find the level or switch to drop these bars, or we aren't getting through. How did the draugr even get past these?"
"You are deserving of a reward, little one," the voice continued. "And I can think of no better gift than to allow you to take your place at my side."
"I have no desire to stand by you!" Malg growled.
"Nor I by you, orc," Jordis sneered. "Your foul smell could wake the dead had the Wolf Queen not already."
"Not you," Malg replied.
Jordis scrunched up her face and looked around. "There is no one else here," she said.
"Potema is speaking to me," Malg said.
"Oh, good," Jordis said, rolling her eyes. "You wait 'til we're down here to lose your mind."
"Shh," Malg hushed her.
"Whatever, lunatic," Jordis huffed. "Figures my charge would go moonstruck the moment magic could really help us out. How about you bend these bars out of the way?"
"I was not asking!" Potema shouted so loudly into Malg's mind that he nearly dropped to his knees. "You have already served me, and you are coming to serve me again! You will die here! My servants will cut you apart, and I will raise what is left. Then you will take your place by my side."
As the Wolf Queen's last words echoed in Malg's head, the bars blocking their way forward slid down into the floor. Jordis shot Malg a questioning look.
"She wants to cut us apart and turn us into zombies," Malg said.
"Of course she does," Jordis replied.
Malg followed Jordis further down into the catacombs, incinerating the spiderwebs in their path with small discharges from his staff. It was not long before they started hearing the hollow moans of the draugr clattering around in old, rusted armor. Malg was trying to stay as quiet as possible until he realized that Jordis was making no attempt to. The steel plates of her armor were not loud, nowhere near as loud as the racket the draugrs' armor was making against their bones, but this was not the quiet infiltration Wilkes had utilized. He shrugged. It was better that way. Remaining unnoticed was not exactly his forte.
As they walked through a doorway unto an enclosed balcony, an arrow ricocheted off Jordis' right pauldron. The shaft snapped and part of it flew right passed Malg's face. Jordis did not hesitate. She rushed the walking corpse, smashing the edge of her shield into its face and driving her sword through its chest. The draugr continued to reach for her, but the sword maiden kicked it off of her blade and smashed it to pieces with several blows from her shield. Two more draugr came shambling up from the floor below, but they drowned in flames as Malg bathed the entire staircase in fire. Their smoldering remains crumbled into ash as the staircase lost its integrity and partially collapsed.
"What do you think you can accomplish here?" a voice called down from below, but this time it was not the Wolf Queen.
Jordis and Malg looked over the railing to the lower floor. A woman, dressed in black robes, stood in the middle of the oil-soaked chamber looking up at them. She was pale and gaunt, but her eyes burned with an unnatural light Malg knew too well. He had seen it before in the eyes of his best friend. The vampire's grinned, and the sight of her fangs sent a chill up Malg's spine.
"You don't truly think you can actually prevail here, do you?" she asked. "I have been walking these catacombs since my mistress was interred here. They thought they destroyed her then, but it was nothing more than a delay of the inevitable. The Wolf Queen will rise again, stronger and more powerful than she has ever been! She will bend the mortals of Skyrim to her will before she marches on the rest of Tamriel! You and your kind..."
The loud clang of steel on iron brought a sudden end to the vile creature's speech as she watched the tall iron candle stand tip over onto the floor. Her eyes went wide as the lit candlesticks fell from their places into the large pool of oil. She screamed and tried to flee, but the fire blazed through the entire room in less than a second, setting barrels and the old wooden table and chairs alight. Nothing was spared from the fire's consuming wrath, even Jordis' sword, which was burned beyond saving by the time she and Malg were able to descend what was left of the stairs. Rather than letting loose a string of profanities that would make a sailor blush or kicking the charred vampire corpse, Jordis calmly walked back up the stairs, wrested a blade from one of the now fully dead draugr and continued further into the Wolf Queen's lair.
The bodies of the ancient dead stood like sentinels in the next burial chambers, as if someone had designed their final resting places to be less than lasting. Jordis motioned to him to stay close behind as the two of them attempted to pass by undetected. Malg thought they had succeeded until a groan erupted from the burial vault behind them. As he turned, he saw one of the restless dead stepping down from where it had been displayed and taking a large ax from its place on the wall. It slowly twisted its head to the side, and when its dimly glowing eyes settled on the two intruders, an empty hollow roar emanated from its nonexistent throat.
The draugr swung its ax wildly around striking sparks from stone and knocking over the tables and chairs that seemed terribly misplaced in chambers meant for the dead. Jordis leaped into the fight, shearing several pieces of bone from the massive corpse, but the draugr caught her with a hard backhand, which dazed her even through her steel helmet, and slammed her several times into the stone wall. Holding her against the wall by her head, the draugr brought its ax back level with her neck, when Malg hit the monstrous undead with paralysis. The flash of green halted the corpse, and it fell stiffly to the stones. Jordis nodded her thanks and finished the immobilized corpse. Unfortunately, for them, the commotion had awakened more of Potema's servants, and they could hear the groans approaching.
Jordis positioned herself around the corner of the wall and quickly took down the first two undead in a flurry of sword strokes. She blocked the strike from the next, and swung low, lopping off the draugr's leg. When it tried to attack again, the brainless abomination toppled itself. It was the first time Malg saw Jordis laugh just before she crushed it with her shield.
As Malg and Jordis ventured deeper, the catacombs started to show their age. The hand-carved work of skilled masons gave way to old, crumbling stonework placed so long ago that no mason, regardless of talent, could have prevented its decay. The massive roots systems from stalwart Skyrim pines and firs penetrated down through the stone walls, weakened by age, collapsing several areas. Malg and Jordis had to climb and fight their way through much of the ancient structure until they reached the older part of the catacombs.
"This looks more like a Nord burial mound than a modern catacomb," Jordis commented.
"Looks a little like Saarthal," Malg said.
"You've been to Saarthal?" Jordis asked.
Malg nodded.
"I've always wanted to see the ancient capital of the Nordic Empire. Why were you there?" she asked as she split the skull of a corpse just in case it decided the crawl out of its sarcophagus.
"I went there looking for the Eye of Magnus," Malg answered.
"Wasn't that recovered by college mages a while back?" Jordis asked.
Malg sighed, "Yes, yes it was." Malg reached out and grabbed the skull of skeleton nearest to him and squeezed until it fractured with a satisfying crunch.
Around the next corner, Malg and Jordis came across a small circular chamber filled with the bodies of the dead. Jordis signaled him to stay back as she hacked at a few of the more intact corpses. After a moment of two, she motioned for him to proceed and went to open the gate on the far side of the chamber. Malg eyed the dead as he entered the room, doing his best not to step on them, but as he got to the center of the room, he heard a familiar, yet quiet laugh. He looked up and saw the same carved image of the Wolf Queen he had when they first entered the crypt. The door behind him slammed shut before he could warn Jordis, and once again he heard Potema's voice.
"Look what you walked into, little thing," the Wolf Queen smirked. "Don't worry. I will put you to good use. You will be beside me as my undead armies march through Skyrim."
"I refuse!" Malg shouted.
"Not this again," Jordis muttered.
"Foolish orc!" Potema growled. "I was not giving you a choice! Die and be mine!"
An ugly bluish glow surrounded the corpses on the floor, and one by one they started to haul themselves up onto their feet. Malg wanted to bring down a torrent of fire upon the draugr, but the chamber was too confined. If he did, he would end up killing both Jordis and himself in the process. The sword maiden went to work hacking at the rising dead, but there were so many, it was doing little good. Malg paralyzed a few of them, but the spell was quickly draining him. One of the draugr launched a clumsy attack at his head, which cracked hard against gleaming ebony. Malg growled and grabbed the mace from the corpse's grasp and swung hard crushing the skull and obliterating half of the ribcage.
Jordis yelled out in frustration as she ducked and dodged the undead attacks, countering as best she could, but not taking down enough of them as they backed her against the wall. The edge of fear in her voice triggered Malg and rage began to fully take hold. The orc mage swung his staff and mace in wild arcs around the room, smashing three of the bodies to pieces. The fourth blocked his staff with an old iron shield, but Malg abandoned his weapons and ripped the draugr's limb from its body. The ligaments snapped like brittle straw. The crazed orc grabbed the disarmed undead and slammed into the image of the Wolf Queen unto it shattered into pieces.
Malg seized two of the draugr surrounding Jordis and tossed them across the room. With the pressure off, Jordis was able to take down the other. Malg turned on the two he had thrown. A single punch crushed the skull of the first, but at that moment the other struck him across the back with the edge of its sword. However, what would likely have been a fatal blow to most, shattered on the back of the ebony encrusted orc. Malg turned, fury blazing in his eyes, grabbed the draugr by its spine, and began to wretch the abomination in two directions. His roar echoed through the room as the vertebrae began to split and fracture. Small bits of old bone splintered off, and with a final crack, the spine tore in two.
The chamber was empty and quiet except for the sound of Malg's heavy breathing. Nothing moved. Jordis unmoving near the wall, in shock over what she had seen. She had seen orcs go berserk in battle before, but none had ever been so devastating. After a few tense moments, Malg's breathing slowed. He picked up his staff and turned to face Jordis, head slightly hung.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Jordis nodded, "That was incredible."
"It is useful," Malg admitted. "But it's not something I'm proud of."
"Why not?! Do you know how much I wish I could wreak that kind of havoc?! What was that you did to your skin?" Jordis asked as she reached out to touch it. "It's like ebony."
"It is," Malg said. "I altered my skin composition."
"Amazing," she said. "You basically turned yourself into a weapon."
Malg had never considered that before, but Jordis was right. His fists were like two ebony mace heads on the end of his arms.
"And the berserker rage just amplifies it to insane levels," Jordis marveled as she tapped the edge of her sword against Malg's heavily muscled shoulder. "I suppose magic is good for something. You seem to have found here a near perfect weapon."
Strangely, to have such a strong warrior, a professional housecarl, be so impressed by him began to change Malg's opinion. When Wiggles-Her-Fingers had consoled him, it was comforting, but it was pity. Malg was not even sure if she had really meant what she said, but Jordis did. She was in awe of him, and it made him feel good, special even as she admired him.
Jordis looked around at the dead bodies strewn around the room. "I might have been a bit hasty in thinking we would never make it out of here alive," she said. "If you're keeping something like that in reserve, I feel sorry for the Wolf Queen. Let's go get that witch."
The Wolf Queen's sanctum was just down the hallway. Malg could feel the surge of power before they reached the door and warned Jordis that Potema was indeed waiting for them behind the door. Jordis nodded and asked Malg if he was ready to release the berserker again if necessary. Malg assumed he would feel ashamed if anyone would ever ask that question, but he didn't. When Jordis asked it, it was not in fear. It was not in judgment. It was in excitement, anticipation, and admiration. Malg nodded. It was strange. There was part of him that even wanted to.
Jordis thrust open the door and both of them stopped in their tracks. Hovering high above the center of the enormous chamber was a bright blue specter in the vague shape of a human. Power flowed around the form in large energetic swells like water fused with lightning.
"Finally!" Potema's voice echoed throughout the chamber.
"Oh," Jordis sneered. "Her voice is annoying. No wonder it pissed you off."
Potema ignored the taunt and kept talking, "With your corpse and that key, I will start my conquest of Skyrim with the decimation of Solitude!"
"If you cannot get past a locked door without a key, I don't think killing us will suddenly pave your way to the entire province," Jordis jeered again, and this time it struck home.
"Silence, insolent girl!" Potema screamed. "You are nothing to me! Your corpse will join my horde of thralls like the insignificant thing that you are!"
"Blah blah time to die, witch," Jordis said as she walked into the room.
Potema screamed and the lids of the sarcophagi surrounding the room blew off like leaves in the wind revealing heavily armored draugr. Malg leveled his staff at the oncoming horde and let loose a blaze of fire into the room. The old, dry flesh of the corpses instantly caught fire and dropped smoldering to the stones. After the first wave fell, he encased himself in ebony, ready for the coming onslaught of the dead.
Jordis leaped into the fray, newly emboldened by her companion's abilities, slashing at exposed bone and crushing skulls with her shield. Potema's avatar remained hovering above the chamber throwing wild blasts of energy at Malg and Jordis.
Malg cut another swath of fire across the room, bathing the stone coffins in flames and turning corpses to ash until the flames would no longer come. Malg dropped the empty staff and charged at the nearest draugr. He blocked the edge of the ancient Nord ax with his forearm, smashed his fist through its ribcage, and hurled what was left into another walking corpse. Malg jumped forward kicked the next draugr in the chest, denting the breastplate and sending the abomination crashing into the wall. A hollow moan erupted from behind him, and Malg turned to see the largest draugr he had ever seen. The hulking corpse towered over him, clad in piecemeal steel and leather armor and wielding an ax and a dented shield. It also wore a necklace made of human hands, but Malg hardly noticed any of this as he slammed his entire body into it, knocking it to the ground directly below Potema. The draugr tried to drag itself back to its feet, but Malg leaped on top of it smashing his fists into the monster's chest. On its back, the draugr swung its ax, hitting Malg in the side but barely drawing blood before Malg ripped it off. He smashed his fists into the corpse's face several times, crushing its jaw and heavily fracturing its skull before ripping the shield arm off. Malg raised the shield still strapped to the dead arm and buried the edge of it into the abomination's chest. Raising his fists like a massive ebony hammer, he pounded the remains of the shield through the corpse until it crushed the spine and the dim lights in the eye sockets of the skull faded.
"Malg!" Jordis yelled. "She retreated into the back room!"
Malg looked up. Potema was no longer there. He jumped off the remains of massive draugr and charged the door. The impact of Malg's ebony body against the steel door sheared the lock off and broke the hinges out of their stone mounts.
The Wolf Queen's skull sat on a dark throne atop a small stone dais. When Malg charged into the room, followed by Jordis, a skeletal ghost rose from out of her ancient remains.
"You will not stop me!" Potema howled. "I will take on a body, and I will finally have my revenge against the descendants of that filthy mob who tortured my son to death and cost us the throne! I will raise every corpse and daedra I have to in order to bring down the Empire and reforge it into my own!"
"Never!" Malg shouted and charged Potema. Unfortunately, her ghost remained incorporeal, and he fell right through her, cracking several of the stone steps leading up to her throne.
Potema turned and blasted Malg with a bolt of lightning that pinned him to the stones. "Fool!" she hissed. "I am not some mere undead corpse for you to tear apart!"
Jordis attacked, but her sword passed through the Wolf Queen just as Malg had. Potema laughed and sent Jordis crashing into the wall with another bolt of lightning. "I will turn you to ash!" Potema howled. "You are nothing to me!"
With Potema focused on Jordis, Malg came back to his senses. As his vision cleared, he saw a glimmer up on a table next to Potema's throne. At first, it did not register what the crystal was, but then his brain snapped back into full awareness. It was a full grand soul stone. As quietly as he could, Malg crept up the stairs and grabbed the stone. When he turned, he saw Potema still blasting Jordis' unconscious body with bolt after bolt of lightning. He wanted to rage again, but he controlled the rage. He could not defeat her like that.
Malg took a deep breath and leaped off the dais passing through the ghost of Potema again. She laughed and taunted what she thought was another attack and mocking his vain attempts at victory. It was only later that she realized how wrong she was as Malg stood in the doorway to her throne room, his staff and an empty soul gem in his hands. The gem made a hollow sound as it hit the stone floor just before Malg released an immense torrent of fire into the room and enveloping the ghost of the Wolf Queen in flames. Potema howled in rage and pain, but Malg kept up his attack until there was nothing left of the Wolf Queen but smoldering ectoplasm.
Malg walked over to Jordis' still, motionless form. Her armor was dented and charred. Malg knelt down, fully expecting to find her dead, but despite the repeated shocks of lightning and being far too close during the incineration of the ghost, she was still breathing. Shocked and incredibly relieved, Malg quickly fished out one of the healing potions Falk had given him, and after gently tilting Jordis' head back, poured it down her throat.
Soon the burns on her face began to heal over, and her breathing became stronger and more steady. Suddenly, she jumped away from Malg. "What happened?!" she shouted. "Where is she?!"
"Dead," Malg said.
"Oh," Jordis said. There was disappointment in her tone.
"The real mystery is how you are still alive," Malg said. "No one could have survived the number of lightning bolts she struck you with."
Jordis nodded, "I was struck hard with lightning before, a mage came out of a side room and hit me in the side with a bolt. I did not care for it. I only lived because of the steel armor I was wearing. I am not sure why, but lightning wants to go through steel more than the human body, so it did not go through most of my body on the way to the ground. Ever since then I wore thin steel cable down my right leg that touched all my armor and touched the ground. I couldn't move, but the lightning didn't hurt that bad. It was the fire that nearly ended me."
"Sorry," Malg apologized.
"No worries," Jordis said. "It worked out alright. Do you have another one of those potions?"
Malg fished another out of his pack and handed it to her.
Jordis downed it like a shot, and a few moments later, she was on her feet again. "Good," she said. "Much better. Now, let's get what we came here for." She looked around and found Potema's skull, a brittle old object on which someone, at some point had wedged a thin crown. She picked it up and handed it to Malg. "Let's go get this thing exorcised," she said.
Jordis lead the way out of the catacombs. As they navigated back up the seemingly endless labyrinth of corridors, Malg started to hear a whisper in his head. "You do not have to do this, you know," the voice said. "It is an object of great power, power that will vanish if it is exorcised."
Malg was no fool. He recognized the voice, and he was not about to let Potema tempt him into something foolish. He ignored it. He ignored her as she ordered him to return her to her throne, and he ignored the bribes and her pleading. It was difficult, but he managed to ignore the screaming and the long line of creative curses leveled at him by the undead former queen of Solitude. As he got closer to the surface, the begging got more and more desperate and the insults became more and more personal. Malg breathed a sigh of relief when he finally handed the skull over to Styrr, and after a short prayer, the voice disappeared for good.
"Thank you," Malg said.
"No," Styrr said. "Thank you for the opportunity to help put an end to Potema. Please let the steward know that it is done. I am sure he will want to reward you for your service."
Falk Firebeard was no less grateful for the service of Malg to Solitude. After hearing the story, the steward's face grew very pale and he quickly approached Jarl Elisif to tell her what had happened. Malg watched as Falk related the story to her and saw as her face also turned even whiter than it already was. Falk then retired to the side of the throne room, and Jarl Elisif called Malg and Jordis to step forward.
"You have done this city an incredible service," Jarl Elisif proclaimed. "Without your bravery and determination, I fear this city would soon be overrun by a horde of undead commanded by one of the most feared necromancers in history. We are grateful for your service, Malg, and we honor the bravery of you both."
Both Jordis and Malg bowed.
"Thank you, Jarl," Malg replied.
"As reward for this great deed, I grant you the position of thane and the title of Guardian of Solitude," Elisif said. "You will have Proudspire Manor as your personal residence, and I hope you will choose to stay here with us in Solitude."
"It would be an honor," Malg replied. "Thank you."
"And, as you are now a thane," Elisif continued. "You will need a housecarl. I think it is only fitting that the warrior who helped you defeat the Wolf Queen remain at your side."
Malg glanced over to Jordis with a questioning look, and the sword maiden quickly nodded her reply.
"Thank you, Jarl Elisif," Malg replied. "I gladly accept."
"It warms my heart to hear it, Thane Malg," Jarl Elisif said. "I am glad my city will have such an accomplished mage as her guardian."
A few days later, Malg was sitting in his new study on the second story of Proudspire Manor writing a letter:
Dear Wiggles-Her-Fingers,
I am sorry for not having written to you sooner, but I have had a lot of unexpected business to attend to.
The letter you saw from Falk Firebeard had to do with the undead as we suspected, but it was not another group of necromancers. It was Potema, the Wolf Queen, herself, who was threatening Solitude. As you might imagine, Jordis, my bodyguard, and I were able to defeat her.
As reward, Jarl Elisif granted me a couple of titles and a house here in Solitude. It is enormous! I still haven't figured out what to do with a couple of the rooms, and that is after giving Jordis her room.
I wanted you to know what happened so you would know I was alright, and to let you know I will not be returning to the College of Winterhold, as my new position requires my presence here.
As soon as you are able, please accept my invitation to come and visit for a while. I would like to show you around Solitude and introduce you to Jordis and some of my other friends here. Ahtar and I are becoming good friends, though it is a little weird when he starts talking about work.
I look forward to hearing from you, and I hope to see you soon.
Your Friend,
Malg